Pay Attention

My youngest son, Sawyer, is on the Autism spectrum, a diagnosis he received primarily because of how he used his focus. When he was very young, he largely refused to give his attention to other people, to his teachers, the other students, and often his parents. It made dealing with him difficult, and made parenting and teaching him confounding. But I understood. When I was young, I developed a habit of “going away.” People would start telling some story or asking me to care about some subject I found boring or unimportant, and so I would withdraw my attention. It was a kind of instinctive self-preservation.

A few years ago, Sawyer, now an adult, was reflecting on his childhood, and how often he retreated within himself. “I just didn’t want anyone to influence me,” he explained. This made perfect sense to me. Children are always being asked to focus on things not of their choosing. What if you don’t want to, or if you feel your attention would be better spent somewhere else? Whether we are conscious of it or not, every single thing we focus on grows in us and eventually in the world around us. We change channels and stop reading books for a reason.

When we write, we are being very deliberate with our focus. If the story we’re telling is an expression of something we would like to experience more of – like excitement, or love, or peace – the heightened attention necessary to write it feels great. You are growing a garden you love within yourself. It’s useful to remember, however, that when you eventually decide to share this story with others, you’re asking your readers to give your story their attention, and in so doing, add to their garden a version of the flower that grew within you during the telling.

I’ve come to see this relationship between writer and reader, between artist and audience, as a kind of holy contract. There is absolutely nothing more valuable we can give than our attention. It’s the source of everything in our lives. I only offer stories I think are worthy of someone else’s attention, but I understand if someone is skeptical. Reading a book is almost like a taking medicine prescribed by a stranger. What’s going to happen when I take this in? What will grow in me?

The good news is that I’ve read or watched plenty of things I realized were taking me somewhere I didn’t want to go. These stories may leave behind some unwanted plants, but if I’m deliberate, if I choose not to water them, they eventually wither. No harm done. But I’ve also read and watched lots of stuff that left me feeling happier and more hopeful than when before I started them. What a gift. Not only can I feel something lovely growing in me, but I also I know better what I want more of, where I need to turn my attention for my story, my next conversation, my next day.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com